THE CHEST FULL OF LEAD WEIGHTS

Marco walked through the dining-room doors carrying a heavy mahogany box.

It was the Moretti estate’s master silver chest.

Usually, it took two people to lift it. Tonight, Marco carried it alone. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed firmly on the floor.

He set it down on the serving buffet behind Luca’s chair.

The thud it made against the wood was loud, but it wasn’t the deep, dense sound of two hundred pieces of solid sterling. It sounded hollow.

Vanessa took a step backward, her red gown rustling in the dead-quiet room.

“Luca, please,” she whispered, dropping her angry facade. Her voice trembled. “Don’t do this in front of everyone.”

Luca didn’t look at the thirty-two guests holding their breath.

He stood up.

He walked over to the chest.

The brass clasp on the front was secured with a small, intricate padlock.

“Key,” Luca said.

He held out his hand, palm up, toward his fiancée.

Vanessa shook her head. “I don’t have it. I gave it to the caterers.”

I stood near the pantry door, my heart hammering against my ribs.

“The caterers don’t use the master chest, ma’am,” I said quietly. “They use the kitchen reserves.”

Vanessa shot me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

“Key,” Luca repeated. The calmness in his voice was terrifying. It was the voice of a man who commanded an empire, speaking to someone who had just tried to steal from it.

“I lost it,” she choked out.

Luca didn’t argue. He didn’t raise his voice.

He simply turned around, walked to the heavy stone fireplace, and picked up the wrought-iron fire poker.

Several guests gasped. A wealthy banker’s wife covered her mouth.

Luca walked back to the chest, raised the heavy iron rod, and brought it down violently on the brass padlock.

Crack.

The lock shattered. Pieces of brass hit the hardwood floor.

Luca dropped the poker.

He placed both hands on the lid of the chest and threw it open.

I stepped forward, unable to stop myself.

The velvet-lined compartments meant to hold priceless, century-old Italian silver were completely empty.

No forks. No spoons. No serving trays.

Instead, sitting in the bottom of the velvet slots, were six rectangular lead diving weights.

Just enough weight to make the box feel heavy if a maid or a butler tried to shift it while cleaning.

A collective murmur of shock rippled through the dining room.

Vanessa covered her face with her hands.

“You replaced the table settings with electroplate,” Luca said, staring into the box. “And you fenced the family collection.”

“I was going to get it back!” Vanessa cried, tears ruining her perfect makeup. “I swear, Luca! It was only temporary!”

“Temporary,” Luca repeated hollowly.

He reached into the chest.

Hidden beneath one of the lead weights was a small, black velvet pouch.

Vanessa saw it, and her knees gave out. She collapsed onto the floor, sobbing.

Luca pulled the drawstrings.

He turned the pouch upside down over his hand.

I expected jewelry. I expected a diamond.

Instead, a crumpled, yellow piece of paper fell out.

I recognized the texture, the carbon-copy printing, and the brutal red stamp immediately.

It was a pawn ticket.

Luca unfolded it. His dark eyes scanned the messy handwriting.

His face, normally unreadable, contorted in absolute agony.

He looked down at Vanessa, who was weeping into the Persian rug.

“The silver is one thing,” Luca whispered, his voice cracking. “I can buy silver.”

He dropped the ticket onto the table.

It landed right in front of me.

I read the description written on the receipt:

Item 1: Antique platinum rosary. Engraved ‘Elena’.

My breath caught in my throat.

Elena was Luca’s mother. The woman who had built the Moretti family from nothing. The woman whose rosary Luca kept in the biometric safe in his private office—a safe Vanessa was never supposed to have access to.

Luca knelt down, grabbing Vanessa by the shoulders and forcing her to look at him.